The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [58]
“Miss Ellison! What are you doing here?”
“She’s waiting for you.” The little man shot to his feet with excitement. “She’s been here sittin’ this past half hour.” He pulled an exceedingly elegant gold watch out of his pocket.
Pitt stared at it. “Where did you get that, Willie?”
“You got a nasty mind, Mr. Pitt.”
“I’ve got a nasty temper, too. Where did you get it, Willie?”
“I bought it, Mr. Pitt!” His outrage carried no anger, only ringing innocence.
“From whom? One of your dolly-shops?”
“Mr. Pitt! That’s real gold, that is. It’s quality.”
“Pawnshop then?”
“That’s not nice, Mr. Pitt! I bought it respectable.”
“All right, Willie. Go out and convince the sergeant while I talk to Miss Ellison.”
Willie lifted his hat and bowed elaborately.
“Out, Willie!”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Pitt. Good afternoon, ma’am.”
Pitt closed the door behind him and indicated a chair for Charlotte. Now that he was alone with her he seemed less assured, conscious of the shabby surroundings. Charlotte found herself wishing to put him at ease. She pulled out the letter straight away.
“Our new maid, Millie, handed this to me a little over an hour ago. She found it this morning in her room. I should explain that the room used to be Lily’s.”
He took the letter and unfolded it. He read it, and then held it up to the light.
“It doesn’t look old, and hardly the type of letter one would wish to keep. I think we may presume she received it shortly before she was killed.”
“It’s a threat?” She moved a little closer to look at it herself.
“It would be difficult to read it as anything else. Although, of course, it may not be a threat of death, by any means.”
A world of fear opened up to Charlotte’s imagination. Poor Lily! Who had threatened her, and why had she not felt she could turn to any of them to help her? What isolated struggle had been going on in their house under the smooth exterior of housemaid’s black and white?
“What do you suppose they wanted her to do?” she asked. “Whoever wrote that letter? Do you think you can find them, and punish them?”
“They may not have killed her.”
“I don’t care! They frightened her! They tried to force her to do something she obviously did not want to! Isn’t that a crime?”
He was looking at her with surprise, taking in her anger, her sense of outrage and pity, and perhaps guilt because it had all happened in her house and she had not seen it.
“Yes, it is a crime, if we could prove it. But we don’t know who wrote it, or what he wanted her to do. And the poor little creature isn’t alive to complain now.”
“Aren’t you going to find out!” she demanded.
He put out a hand, as if to touch her, then remembered himself and withdrew it.
“We’ll try. But I doubt that the person who wrote this killed her. She was garotted exactly the same way, with a wire from behind, as Chloe Abernathy and the Hiltons’ maid. A cracksman might have threatened two maids, but he would never have tried it with a girl like Chloe.” His eyes opened wider with a new thought. “Unless, of course, he mistook her for Lily. They were of a similar height and colouring. I suppose in the dark—”
“What would he threaten them for? Two maids, I mean?”
“What? Oh, burglars often use housemaids to let them in and tell them where all the valuables are in the house. Perhaps if she refused—,” he sighed. “But it seems a rather extreme way of going about business, and largely unnecessary. A burglar could find enough indoor servants who are willing, or loose-tongued, not to need to resort to this kind of thing.”
“Why didn’t she come to us?”
“Probably because it wasn’t a burglar at all, but some kind of romantic involvement,” he replied. “Something she preferred that you not be aware of, that she thought you wouldn’t approve of. I expect we shall never know.”
“But you will try?”
“Yes, we’ll try. And you did the right thing to bring it. Thank you.”
She found herself uncomfortable under his gaze, and she was conscious